


Fighting Himself

by wyomingnot



Category: Fight Club (1999), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-15
Updated: 2005-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyomingnot/pseuds/wyomingnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler Durden, meet Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Himself

~*~

The international expansion of Fight Club had been going well until this.

"I'm not going to fight a kid."

Both Tyler and the kid want to know why not.

"Because you're a kid." Simple enough. I don't have to explain myself to Tyler, much less some strange kid who just walked in off the street.

"I'm not a kid," he insists, fists balled up at his sides, bristling with nervous energy. Itching to fight. His worn clothes hang off him. He's pale and gaunt, his dark hair shaggy and unkempt. He looks like he belongs in one of my old support groups, not here.

"You don't need a fight. You need therapy. Go home." I start to turn around and barely see it out of the corner of my eye, one of those skinny fists coming at me. I have enough time to think, _How much could it hurt, really?_ A stiff breeze could knock him over.

It's a solid hit, knocking my head to the side.

I am Jack's painfully subdued conscience.

Tyler starts to laugh. Not such a kid, huh? He asks. I don't answer.

Kid or not, you throw a punch here, you'd better be prepared to be hit back.

"Lose the shirt and shoes." Tersely, as I pull off my shirt and toss it to the side. He doesn't hesitate, toeing off his shoes and setting them next to my discarded shirt. He takes off his glasses and puts them in a shoe. When he takes off his shirt, I see that I had been very wrong. Definitely not scrawny. Lean, yes, but with distinct muscle definition.

We step to the center. The fighting space. I remember what Tyler said about skinny guys. How they don't stop. They keep going until they're burger. The kid was no exception. He refuses to quit. In the end he wipes the floor with me through sheer persistence.

He helps me up and thanks me, then drifts back in the crowd. I think that was it. The next fight starts and fight club carries on.

I should know better than to underestimate people. Really, I should.

The kid is waiting outside after. We lock eyes for an endless minute. It's as if I was back in my cave, and my power animal is rifling through my memories, my fantasies. Looking for the good stuff, my personal porn. It's a varied collection, more inclusive than I had realized.

And then it's over. I'm back outside the pub with the kid looking at me.

"Slide," he says.

 

I'm not surprised when I wake up the next morning and find the kid standing against the kitchen counter drinking tea. It's Marla all over again. He even looks something like Marla. The messy black hair, the pale skin.

Only he doesn't make any fuss. Sets his cup down when I stumble in. Gives me a shy look and mumbles something about having to go. The minute the door clicks shut, Tyler is in the kitchen with me.

Tyler shuffles across the kitchen floor in his ratty bathrobe and floppy-eared bunny slippers. He picks up the abandoned cup, sniffs and drinks what's left. Tyler seems to have no issues with germs (his gift for finding shitty, dirty houses attests to that). Given that he probably fucked the kid sixteen different ways last night, well, it really doesn't matter anyway.

"You really have a knack for picking out the weirdos, man," he says.

Apparently at some point last night, after following us home, after I fall asleep, the kid (Tyler says the kid's name is Harry, but I really don't give a rat's ass) tells Tyler that he's a wizard. That he can do magic.

So what's he doing at Fight Club, I ask. Shouldn't he be off waving his magic wand with the other wizards?

Tyler dumps out the teapot and fusses with making coffee. Tells me Harry said he didn't much feel like doing that anymore. After he killed the evil wizard who killed his parents...

I have to interrupt. "That kid killed somebody?"

Tyler shrugs. "So he says."

For some reason I find that easier to believe than the magic thing.

 

The kid shows up every night for Fight Club. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he doesn't. But every night he comes back looking like it's his first night. No bruises, no cuts. I begin to wonder about what Tyler said. The kid eventually notices my scrutiny.

It's usually a quiet walk home, but tonight he says, "You don't believe me."

Believe what? Only I don't ask. I just look at him. And it's like the night we met. Only this time, I'm in his head. His power animal is a snake and it shows me around. Shows his parents being killed when he was a baby. His surviving the attack. Being raised by people who vehemently disbelieved in magic. Neglected. Abused. And then discovering he is a wizard. Going to school with other wizards, being pursued the entire time by a resurrected evil wizard. War. Loss. Eventually killing this Lord Voldemort when he was 17. Listless. Restless.

There's the rush of the pavement coming to meet me suddenly, and I sit down hard on the curb. The kid sits down next to me. Asks if I believe him now.

I ask who he's fighting every night.

He's fighting himself every night. Beating himself up for not being brave enough to stick around in the wizarding world and deal with the fallout.

Understandable. "Is it doing any good?"

"Not really. Maybe it's time to go home."

"Might be."

He nods. Stands up and holds out a hand to help me up. We walk home in silence.

 

The next morning I wake up sore in places I don't expect to be sore, even after a bad night. I'm sprawled out on the couch and the kid is sitting on the edge, watching me.

He brushes aside the hair on my forehead and tells me he's going home now. I know he doesn't mean wherever it is that he's been going to in between here and Fight Club.

He gets up and walks to the door. I half sit up and watch him. He's standing in the doorway when he turns around and points what must be his magic wand at me.

" _Obliviate_."

 

~*~

 

The international expansion of Fight Club is going to have to wait. I'm sure there's something I need to be doing back home.. 

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> A super late contribution to crossover_hp, for cenori.
> 
> Encouragement and title assists by ozsaur. More encouragement, brainstorming and Beta by karitawyr. Any remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
